


Headcanon Meme

by nomical



Series: Where The Prompt Fics Go [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Night Terrors, Prompt Fic, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/pseuds/nomical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills from <a href="http://theladyragnell.tumblr.com/post/96576732718/headcanon-meme">headcanon meme</a> on tumblr. Will post as I finish them. If you like what you read, feel free to leave a prompt in the comments or in my <a href="http://nomical.tumblr.com/ask">ask box</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headcanon Meme

Merlin's ability to fall asleep anywhere: floor, pallet, table, a pile of books, is just one more thing Arthur finds irksome about his newly acquired manservant. Once Merlin shuts his eyes he's out for the night and probably wouldn't wake up unless his bed was on fire, and even then Arthur has his doubts. Arthur needs a little bit more padding. Even when he's out on a hunt, cheeks flushed and exhausted with all his worries and cares forgotten, it always takes him a little bit longer to fall asleep.

It's not until he sees Merlin lying still as death from the poison he drank voluntarily that Arthur really starts to take an interest in his sleeping patterns. On the nights they lie on the ground under a canopy of trees and stars, Arthur takes extra care to check Merlin is still breathing. It becomes a bit of an obsession, which in Arthur's mind is completely justified; a good servant is hard to find. Merlin may be truly awful at his actual duties, but there's something about him that makes Arthur want to keep him in his service anyways. And besides, it always takes him a good thirty minutes to fall asleep after Merlin passes out. Why not use that time to monitor the rise and fall of Merlin's chest and watch his chilled breath float away on the wind?

It's especially difficult to fall asleep in his bed. Merlin makes fun of his tossing and turning as he putters around the room, blowing out the candles and stocking the fire. Sometimes Arthur dismisses him by throwing a pillow at his insolent head. He then immediately regrets it when he has to go fetch the pillow himself. When he finally does get to sleep, it's usually clutching said pillow to his chest. Merlin complains when he finds him like that the next day, whining about constantly having plump the pillows and get new stuffing. Arthur responds by holding his pillow even tighter the next night. It's a silly game they play but it gives him something to focus on when falling asleep.

Arthur is the one that initiates the bed sharing on hunting trips. At first it was under the pretence of warmth, "I can't sleep with your teeth chattering like that Merlin, come here," but it soon crossed over to the palace, "I will require your services early tomorrow morning Merlin, it makes little sense for you to return to your chambers tonight". He can't explain why, but he sleeps easier with Merlin's warm, bony body weighing down one side of the bed. Eventually, he doesn't even need to grasp the pillow anymore, listening instead to the steady breathing beside him and letting it lull him to sleep. They never say much once Merlin is in the bed with him. Merlin sporadically oversteps the boundary and continues his usual day prattle well after he's settled down under the sheets. On these occasions, Arthur thinks he's well within his rights to smack him with a pillow before rolling over.

He wakes one morning to find that Merlin has plastered himself to his side at some unknown point during the night. Even more distressing: one of his own traitorous arms has wrapped itself around Merlin, his hand coming to rest in Merlin's tussled hair. He recognizes that his own lack of panic at the situation is probably a telling sign of something and sighs. Merlin stirs a little with the rise of his chest and responds by smacking his lips and stretching out his arm, elbowing Arthur in the stomach and then gripping tightly. Arthur rolls his eyes and reaches for the box next to his bed. He pulls out two leaves and chews on one while giving Merlin a shake.

"Here," he says, poking the tip of the leaf at Merlin's lips.

Merlin comes awake with a start and detangles himself the best he can. Arthur keeps his hand casually nestled in Merlin's hair and does his best to ignore the puddle of salvia Merlin has kindly left him on his chest. Since Merlin seems to have forgotten what words are used for (and who would have thought that day would ever come), Arthur brandishes the leaf at him again.

"Eat this."

"Why?"

Any other day Arthur would be offended with the deep look of mistrust Merlin is giving the leaf.

"Because I want to kiss you and you smell foul, now eat this before I have to pin you down and force it in myself," Arthur rolls his eyes again.

Merlin's mouth falls open and Arthur's nose is assaulted with a stronger wave of the pong already flavouring the air around them. The really disgusting part is, Arthur barely minds it. In fact he's pretty keen on pinning Merlin down and licking out his mouth until the bad flavour gone.

"You want to…yeah okay." Arthur can see the exact moment Merlin shakes off his stupor and grabs for the leaf, shoving it in his mouth and chewing rapidly.

"All better?" he asks with an exhale.

It's not completely gone, but the scent is definitely tamer than before and mixed with a light tinge of mint.

"You'll do," Arthur acquiesces. Merlin barely has time to grin before Arthur flips them over and makes good on his promise to pin him down.

From that day on, Arthur's pillows are used for nothing but sleeping. His mattress on the other hand, well that's another story.

***

Merlin's favourite place to sleep is in Ealdor, curled up on a blanket on the floor of his mother's home. Arthur would laugh at him if he knew how much Merlin really enjoyed it, but there are some things sleeping on a cushy mattress just can't replicate. Like the deep rumblings of the men and the honey-sweet laughter of the women when Hunith hosted the village social. When Merlin was young, he would fall asleep to the cacophony of voices and songs bouncing around their small home. He remembers those nights with great fondness, his last waking memory being their shadows dancing on the walls like wood nymphs around a fire.

His bed on the floor at home has other perks as well. There he can draw his finger along the wooden leg of the table, following the patterns and watching as they turn into designs. Sometimes, if he's feeling reckless, he'll animate them with a flash of his eyes and bring them to life. His favourites are the pair of knights that live on the underside of the table; they play out the best stories. They always freeze up again when his eyes get too heavy, but Merlin hopes they're glad he freed them from their wooden prison, even if just for a few minutes.

Nothing can replace the smell of home either. The best days are the ones where it rains steadily, making the air inside damp and heavy. The smells get stronger on days like that, the heady smell of thatch and earth mixing into one. The fire smells stronger those days too, because their chimney may be sturdy, but it isn't strong enough to win against the tenacity of country rain storms. The damp wood takes longer to catch and when it finally does if fills their home with thick smoke. Merlin can take care of the smoke easily enough, and at his mother's urgings nudges it gently up the chimney, but he likes the way the scent lingers in the air for hours after the clouds have cleared out.

He even likes sleeping on the floor in the winters. He loves stretching out in front of the fire pit; the heat almost painfully hot on his front and his back feeling the bite of the chill. He lies there relishing in the two extremes until his cheeks become too rosy and then he flips over. The sudden relief on his back and the cooling of his front is a feeling he can't recreate with magic. He'll play that game, alternating between hot and cold, until his mother has enough of it and pulls him into bed with her. It creaks and protests against another body, however lithe, but they both ignore it and hunker down. On nights his mother falls asleep first, Merlin will poke at the blanket, encouraging it to warm up just a tad. If Hunith ever notices she's waking up a few degrees warmer than she should, she doesn't say anything.

 Arthur is more patient with Merlin when it's just the two of them alone at night. As their time together wears on and words like 'destiny' and 'prophecy' become tangible things, Merlin becomes more restless in his sleep. He'll still pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but he'll cry out and fight off invisible adversaries. Most nights Arthur can calm him by holding him tight against his chest and whispering sweet nothings into his hair, but some nights nothing works. It's nothing he can logically explain, but the bed feels too soft, like it's trying to lure him into a false sense of security.

After a particularly bad spell that leaves him shaking, Merlin leaves a dozing Arthur in bed and creeps across the floor to the hearth. He settles himself on the rug with nothing more than a sheet and has the best sleep he's had for months. He wakes up early and stretches his sore muscles, smiling at the familiar floor stiffness, and tries to sneak back to bed before Arthur notices. This of course proves to be a folly hope as Arthur is already awake and frowning at him from Merlin's usual side of the bed.

"You left," Arthur mumbles around a mouth full of pillow.

"Sorry," Merlin perches on the edge of the bed and brushes the hair off Arthur's forehead. "It won't happen again."

Arthur is apparently still sleepy enough to be in a cuddly mood, because instead of pushing him off the bed, he wraps his arms around Merlin's middle and tugs at him ineffectually.

"Yes it will, but next time you're taking me with you," he yawns.

Merlin smiles but doesn't think anything of it for weeks. Not until he has another nightmare, this one involving knives in the dark and a pair of bright blue eyes, staring but not seeing. He wakes with a shout and any hope of not including Arthur in his midnight migration die as Arthur bolts upright next to him. He takes one look at Merlin's face, picks up their pillows, and pulls Merlin along in his wake.

As Arthur arranges their makeshift bed, Merlin wipes hastily at the tears running down his face. Arthur takes great care to construct himself a bed out of pillows on the floor which is still probably more comfortable than what half the lower town sleep on. He lies down and looks at Merlin, his eyebrow raise voicing his unspoken invitation. Merlin settles on the floor next to him, pressing his face into Arthur's chest and revelling in steady beat of his heart. There's not much he can do to fix the smell of the place, but the hardness under his side, the heat on his back, and the ever-present feeling of Arthur is enough to coax him back to sleep.


End file.
